


Turn the Page

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Season 1 AU, deviating off of Salvation. It's three years later, and Sam's nearing the end of law school. Dean's pretty badass and amoral in this, or so it might seem. Just...keep an open mind?





	1. Chapter 1A

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Turn the Page (1/2)  
 **Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
 **Characters:** Sam/Dean, alternating POV  
 **Rating:** NC-17 for language, dark subject matter [um, incest anyone? kthx.]  
 **Category:** (W)incest  
 **Word Count:** 10, 600  
 **Spoilers/Warnings:** character death, incest, hooker/hustler!Dean.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don’t own the boys, they own me.  
 **Summary:** Season 1 AU, deviating off of _Salvation_. It’s three years later, and Sam’s nearing the end of law school. Dean’s pretty badass and amoral in this, or so it might seem. Just…keep an open mind?  
 **Notes:** Um...you're probably going to want to hit me after this part. All I can say is, don't? Please? lol. Trust me? *wibbles*  
  
  
  
  
  
Habits were hard sons of bitches to break.  
  
It didn’t matter how many times Sam awoke to find himself surrounded by nothing more menacing than the cheap furniture he’d bought to decorate his apartment, his heart still raced at every odd noise. His fingers still closed around the consecrated dagger hidden beneath his pillow. Another habit he’d picked up.  
  
Somewhere on a floor above a toilet flushed. The creaking of footsteps followed, and Sam wiped a palm down his face, releasing the weapon as a choked laugh escaped his throat.  
  
“Shit,” he muttered, falling back against the pillows and swallowing self-disgust. “It’s over, Sam. No more monsters.”  
  
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Sam knew better than most that monsters existed everywhere, both man-made and otherwise. The world would never be rid of the creatures that plagued the night, the day, and all the times in between.  
  
But Sam Winchester could be. He _would_ be, if he could only figure out how to forget.  
  
He lay awake for long moments, waiting until everything went quiet again and the person upstairs was back safe in their bed. Half-expecting to hear a cry of alarm.  
  
Some things you just couldn’t forget.  
  
The clock gleamed with the hour, _Christ, was it only one-o’clock?_ , and Sam rolled onto his side. Even as his eyes fell closed and his body went lax, he knew sleep wouldn’t come.  
  
It never did.  
  
It was stupid, really. He’d longed for these days the entire time he’d been on the quest to learn the truth about the demon that haunted his family, and him. Every step he took, every spirit he destroyed, every person he saved…he was that much closer to the time he’d be able to look his father and Dean in the eye, without hesitation, without qualm, and say he was done.  
  
Of course, he’d never had that chance.  
  
Dad was dead.  
  
He hadn’t spoken to Dean in two years.  
  
His voicemail was no longer accepting incoming messages, and Sam had given up trying to track him down through their mutual acquaintances months ago. It was clear that Dean, like their father before them, didn’t want to be found.  
  
Not by Sam, anyway.  
  
He tried not to take it personally. After all, hadn’t he planned on bugging out the first chance he got? The fact that Dean, in a surprising move, had taken off first…it shouldn’t have affected Sam like a punch in the gut.  
  
Then again, _he’d_ had every intention of saying goodbye.  
  
Just because he didn’t want to live the life of a goddamn ghostbuster, just because he saw more potential in himself than Dean ever had…  
  
He’d really thought they knew each other better than that, after everything. It was all or nothing with Dean, and he’d made the decision without any input from Sam. It fucking hurt, like an arm sliced off in the midst of battle. A dull, aching loss that Sam couldn’t quite cover up with strained smiles and textbooks.  
  
He didn’t miss the monsters, the demons. The hunting.  
  
But he missed Dean.  
  
And that’s just where his hell began.  
  
  
  
_____________________________________________________  
  
  
  
  
Dean ran his tongue along his lips, catching a drop of beer that lingered behind. His lids drooped, his legs spread apart, and he inclined his head in subtle acknowledgment that he knew he was being watched. And didn’t mind in the least.  
  
Smoke billowed from the ash tray at his elbow, a single cigarette butt burning at the end. His fingers lazily tapping along to the beat of the edgy guitar beat blasting from the speaker system; he caught the pair of eyes across the room, letting the interest pour into his gaze as he lifted his drink to his lips.  
  
Lips curved in answer, those dark eyes raking him from head to toe. Dean wasn’t worried that he’d be found lacking. He was in his element now, and he fucking excelled.  
  
Sure enough, all it took was that one slow, languid look from beneath his lashes and things were set into motion. He caressed the long neck of his beer, waiting until a shadow fell over him. Only then did he let himself look up again.  
  
“Slow night.”  
  
Dean’s lips lifted, and he took his time stretching back in his chair. His shirt pulled tight across his chest, the hem rucking up a few inches to expose flat belly. Those eyes dropped, immediately, and he swallowed a smirk.  
  
“Not anymore,” he murmured, voice husky with promise. He downed the rest of his drink, eyes never leaving his companion’s. “Wanna get out of here?”  
  
If the guy was surprised by Dean’s forwardness, he didn’t let it affect him for long. “Hell, yes,” he rasped, looking as if he were already planning the different ways he planned on showing Dean a good time.  
  
Dean couldn’t wait.  
  
“Well, all right,” he murmured, coming to his feet and shrugging on his leather coat. He took off for the exit, not bothering to check and see if he was being followed. He would be.  
  
The cool night air was a vicious adversary for the heat inside the bar, but Dean relished the slow burn of both. His skin was crawling with excitement. Anticipation. He could only smile when his partner for the evening cursed behind him.  
  
“Fucking cold out.”  
  
“Mmm,” he answered in agreement. He turned a corner, gifting him with relative privacy from the people coming in and out of the bar. The moment his companion reached him, Dean fell against the wall, bringing the guy with him.  
  
They collided in a mess of sloppy, drunken kisses. Hands groped Dean’s ass and he let out an appreciative moan, teeth tugging on the guy’s earlobe. “Your place?” he breathed.  
  
The stranger groaned, pressing his hips up against Dean and letting him feel how very much he approved of this idea. “Yeah, sure, whatever you want man.”  
  
“Ever done this before?” Dean continued almost conversationally, eyes searching the parking lot over the guy’s shoulders for the Impala. It was hidden well-enough, and satisfied, he slid his hands down to rest just above the guy’s fly.  
  
“Nah, man. You?”  
  
Dean only smiled. “Once or twice.”  
  
They made it to Adam’s, as the stranger finally identified himself, home in record time. It wasn’t quite what Dean had been expecting, but then he never really knew what he might get.  
  
The brick house looked like any other suburban home, down to the white picket fence and spray of perennials decorating the front lawn. Dean kept his curiosity to himself, but couldn’t keep a single brow from rising.  
  
Adam laughed, obviously catching onto Dean’s surprise. He scratched the back of his neck, appearing sheepish as he added, “It was my mom’s. She passed away last year and left it to me. It needs some work, but I’m pretty busy with other things lately, so…”  
  
Dean turned to him. Studied the hopeful, eager expression in the moonlight. Reached for him, walking backward along the sidewalk to the front porch. “Busy, right,” he whispered against Adam’s parted lips, and they both laughed.  
  
The moment the door shut behind them, Dean found himself shoved up against the nearest wall, a leg working its way between his thighs as lips crashed down on his hungrily. He let out a little moan of encouragement, wrapping a leg around the guy’s hip and rubbing.  
  
“Fuckin’ hot,” Adam murmured, head falling back to bare his neck. Dean licked a line from his jaw to his ear, enjoying the way Adam’s pulse responded. One hand slid into his pocket as the other played at Adam’s belt.  
  
“Dude, upstairs…” Adam was gasping, teeth sinking into his lower lip as Dean continued to tease mercilessly. “There’s something I wanna show you.”  
  
“Me too,” Dean replied, slowly turning them around so that Adam was against the wall. Only then did he release the rage building inside of him.  
  
It happened quickly; a few jabs between the eyes, a swift kick below the knee, and Adam crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. Dean was ready when he came back to his feet, snarling, Adam’s eyes no longer the dark blue they’d been all night, but a cold black.  
  
He pressed the gun to Adam’s forehead, making a tsking sound with his tongue. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to cancel our plans for the evening, buddy. Better offer came along.”  
  
Blood trickled from a cut in Adam’s lip, and he glared at Dean through blazing eyes of hatred. “You…you set me up.”  
  
Dean just grinned. “I know. Ain’t that a bitch?”  
  
“I’ll kill you. Anyone you care about.” Spittle dripped down Adam’s lips, a hysterical gleam in his eyes that would have made anyone nervous. Well, anyone who hadn’t seen the shit Dean had seen.  
  
As it was, Dean wasn’t worried. He held Adam’s gaze a moment longer, then pulled the trigger. The barrel kicked in his hand, and Adam was sent skidding across the floor in a tangle of limbs.  
  
Dean watched as the human form melted away to nothing, only the same soulless eyes staring back at him until those, too, went out. He lowered the smoking gun, expression grim as black blood collected on the tile.  
  
“Some other time, I guess,” he murmured.  
  
The adrenaline began to wear off, leaving him shaking and sick. He slid to the floor, both hands cradling the gun as he stared up at the ceiling and fought not to break at the unfairness of it all.  
  
His cell phone buzzed against his hip, and he started to ignore it, and then decided he needed the distraction. Trembling fingers set the pistol on the floor beside him, and he reached for the clip on his belt.  
  
The name on the Caller ID taunted him for several seconds as, throat working, the familiar internal war raged inside of him.  
  
 _I’m scared of what’ll happen to me if you leave._  
  
Words he’d never spoken out loud. Maybe he should have. It didn’t really matter now, and yet it was the one thing that haunted him day in and day out.  
  
His finger hovered above the answer button, and then the phone stopped ringing. He dropped it like a flame had burned him, covering his face with his hands.  
  
  
  
__________________________________________________  
  
  
  
  
“Earth to Sam. Are we getting through at all?”  
  
Sam finally blinked, tearing his gaze away from the water stain on the ceiling that he’d been staring at for the past…God, who knew how long. Embarrassed heat crept up his neck as he turned to the others. “Sorry. What?”  
  
They all exchanged knowing looks. Sandra, the cute blonde he’d befriended over the course of the semester, clucked her tongue and brushed the hair off of his forehead. “Not sleeping again?” she murmured, genuine concern shadowing her eyes.  
  
Sam sighed. He reached up and squeezed her hand before pulling it away. “It’s nothing, really.” The lie came so quick and easy that he’d stopped being surprised by it a year ago. One more habit he’d picked up, and one that he had to admit proved useful on occasion.  
  
He dredged up a smile, shoving his fingers through the shaggy mop on his head. “My brother’s…birthday was yesterday, and I couldn’t get in touch with him. That’s all.”  
  
Okay, so that wasn’t exactly a lie. But neither was it the reason he’d spent the rest of the night after calling Dean tossing and turning in his bed until the sun peeked over the horizon.  
  
It was happening again.  
  
“Sam, honey, why don’t you get out of here?” Sandra suggested softly. “We can handle this, right guys?”  
  
One or two of the study group looked less than pleased at the idea of adding more work to their own load, but none spoke up to naysay Sandra. A chorus of mumbled affirmatives echoed her statement, and she flashed Sam a grin. “Get gone, Winchester.”  
  
Sam wavered for a split-second, then grabbed his bag and stood. “Thanks,” he answered gratefully, already feeling the dull throb beginning in the back of his head. It took all of his strength to stay upright and walk away from the table, feeling the stares burning into his back.  
  
The minute he turned a corner into the deserted stacks, he collapsed against the nearest bookshelf and gripped his forehead with both hands. The pain he’d been trying to suppress washed over him, sending spots dancing across the backs of his lids.  
  
The images came quickly, almost too fast to process. Vague and misty, but with stark emotion that ranged from triumph to unadulterated horror. Sam’s chest rose and fell raggedly when they finally came to an abrupt end, sweat pooling at his temples.  
  
It was the same as last night.  
  
Blood. And Dean.  
  
God, what the hell had Dean gotten himself into this time?  
  
Gritting his teeth, he reached in his pocket and yanked out his phone, pressing redial. Expecting no answer.  
  
One ring. Two rings. Sam’s fingers began to shake, and his head fell back against the shelf hopelessly. “C’mon, Dean, please…”  
  
“Sammy?”  
  
He shot up so quickly that he nearly sent a stack of oversized encyclopedias tumbling down on top of him. Fingers gripping the phone so tightly that he was half-amazed it didn’t shatter in his fist, he spoke in a voice that came out shocky and hoarse. “Dean?”  
  
His brother’s tone was crisp and unemotional when he replied, “Are you all right?”  
  
“Am I…” Sam swallowed, struggling to keep up with the current events. He had a million questions burning on his tongue, not the least of which was why Dean had finally deigned to answer his call. But all that came out was, “Dean, where are you?”  
  
There was a long silence, and then he heard Dean sigh heavily into the phone. “Don’t call me again, Sam.”  
  
There was an edge there that Sam had never heard in his brother’s voice. Yeah, Dean could be a hard-ass, but there was always an underlying hint of humor in everything he said or did. Sam had often envied him the almost flippant way he handled things, seeing as how it took every ounce of his being to act ‘normal’. Dean wasn’t normal by any means, but he was more comfortable in his skin than Sam had ever been.  
  
Now though…there was no amusement in Dean’s tone. There wasn’t anything, really. Emptiness? If he hadn’t answered the phone with that ridiculous nickname, Sam would have almost suspected he had the wrong number.  
  
“Tell me where you are,” Sam tried again, coming to his feet and walking toward the exit. “Come on, man—”  
  
Dean hung up.  
  
“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Sam muttered, throwing the phone to the ground and resisting the urge to punch the wall. After all, it was only a meager substitute for what – who - he really wanted to hurt.  
  
His phone began to ring again, and Sam stared down at it in a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. He picked it up, not bothering to check the ID of the caller before issuing a terse greeting.  
  
“Hey, Sam,” a voice boomed out, and Sam’s shoulders slumped as he recognized the voice as belonging to his friend, David. “This weekend. We’re doing it.”  
  
“Doing what?” Sam answered absently, thoughts still focused on Dean…wherever the fuck he was.  
  
“Oh, no you don’t,” David laughed. “You’re coming if I have to hog-tie your ass and drag you there myself. Come on, you can act all dark and brooding at the clubs and get all the girls.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, but a grin worked its way onto his face. “Whatever, man.”  
  
“Is that a yes?”  
  
Aburptly, Sam remembered. This weekend. Mardi Gras. David and the rest of the guys had been planning on going down for months, and Sam had originally agreed at the prospect of getting the hell out of the moldy libraries of California for even a short time.  
  
 _You handle the book smarts, Sammy boy, and I’ll handle the streets._  
  
Yeah, Dean would have gotten a kick out of knowing that Sam was beyond fed up with his book smarts.  
  
“Tick tock, Sam,” David’s voice buzzed in his ear, breaking him out of ruminations of the past. “We can be on the road in three hours, and in Louisiana in twenty-four.”  
  
“Only if you wanna bring down every highway patrolman on our heads,” Sam tossed back. “Listen, Dave, I dunno…it’s the middle of the semester…the clinic’s coming up…”  
  
“Sam, we talked about this. About how fucking _boring_ you are. Remember?” The lightness in David’s voice belied his words, and Sam grinned. “Come on, man. You won’t regret this. A little tequila, a lot of strippers…blackouts on Bourbon Street? What more could a young, virile man like yourself ask for?”  
  
Sam hesitated, then figured, what the hell? It wasn’t like he had any idea where to start looking for Dean, or if he even wanted to after his brother’s latest antics. Dean wanted to act like an asshole? Fine. No skin off of Sam’s nose.  
  
“You had me at a little tequila,” he sighed. Then with a smile in his voice, “Fine, fine. I guess I could use the vacation.”  
  
“Damn straight. So, your place in three hours?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The phone call ended with David’s boisterous cackling, and Sam stared at the blank screen for a full moment before chuckling, himself.  
  
  
____________________________________________________________  
  
  
  
  
Dean loved the flavor of New Orleans.  
  
It was distinctive; a little bit exotic, a little bit down-home. A lot sinful. You could walk a block in one direction and find yourself in a neighborhood of perfect pink houses, and turn back around and end up in a crumbling graveyard over two hundred years old.  
  
After the hurricanes, Dean had expected things to feel different. And maybe some things _had_ changed. But the heart, the spirit of New Orleans was as vibrant as ever, reaching out and clasping you to her bosom and sheltering you from any storm Mother Nature had to offer.  
  
Incense burned from within the tiny voodoo shops sequestered along the streets, mingling with the scents of fried dough and crawfish sizzling. During the day, the French Quarter was an eclectic hodge-podge of American history.  
  
At night, it was one of the most dangerous places on Earth.  
  
New Orleans was a hub for all things supernatural, and at certain times you could even feel the magic stirring in the air. For those who believed in such things, it was both a thrill and a warning.  
  
For Dean, it was a job.  
  
The population had grown in leaps and bounds over the past week, tourists doubling in number as Mardi Gras grew closer. There wasn’t a room available for rent within miles of the Quarter, and Dean was feeling particularly grateful for his crappy three-room apartment overlooking Bourbon Street. Even if it did smell like a litter box.  
  
He leaned out over the railing, idly watching the comings and goings of people on Bourbon – a young mother toting her child on one hip as she shopped the open-air markets, a group of teens trying to sneak into an afternoon Triple X show.  
  
Dean snorted in amusement, reaching up to drag his fingers through his hair. Christ, he needed a haircut. It’d been the longest he’d ever been without one, and it was beginning to show as the ends curled slightly. He almost smiled at the fleeting thought that perhaps Sam wasn’t the only one who’d inherited that misfortunate gene after all.  
  
A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, open shirttails flapped in the breeze. Anyone who happened to glance up would have seen a guy in his late-twenties merely out enjoying the abnormally nice weather.  
  
They wouldn’t see the silver dagger tucked safely away in a holster at his ankle. They wouldn’t notice the vial of holy water dangling from his neck. And if they did, they’d chalk it up to Dean being just another in a long line of weirdos, professing crazy theories about vampires and ghouls and creatures that haunted the town.  
  
He was fine with that.  
  
What he wasn’t fine with, was the waiting. It’d been days…something should have turned up by now; Adam’s people should have noted his disappearance and sent someone to check out what had happened.  
  
Things shouldn’t have been so quiet.  
  
Dean settled into a deck chair, drawing the dagger from its sheath and rolling it between his palms as the sunlight glinted off of the engraved blade. Things had been going perfectly, probably _too_ perfectly. He was bound to hit a rough patch now and again, and he really shouldn’t let it bother him. It didn’t necessarily mean anything had gone wrong.  
  
And fluffy pink donkeys danced on his ceiling at four in the morning.  
  
“What the fuck are you up to,” Dean murmured, eyes faraway and distant, mouth forming a grim line. “I know you’re out there.”  
  
Watching. Salivating. Waiting to catch Dean unprepared.  
  
They’d be waiting a damn long time.  
  
He slid the knife back into its holster with a sharp snick, and came to his feet. One last look at the street below and he turned and walked back inside. The floor was cold beneath his feet, hard.  
  
His eyes trailed over the cell phone resting on what constituted as his kitchen table, and something clenched in Dean’s chest. His fingers flexed, and he balled them into fists.  
  
This…it was all for the best. Sam didn’t want to be involved, and after what’d happened to Dad, Dean wouldn’t have asked him for help, anyway. Sam wanted normalcy, the predictable.  
  
Both of which would have killed Dean.  
  
What the fuck had made him answer Sam’s call? Even when he’d pressed the button, heard Sam’s voice, a part of him had been in denial of his actions. He’d quickly rationalized the decision, even knowing it was a mistake.  
  
And it had been. And he’d had to end it.  
  
Of course Sam wouldn’t just let it go, anymore than Dean would have. But Dean felt safe in the knowledge that Sam had no idea where he was, or what he was doing. Had he known, he’d have been there already, demanding to know if Dean was out of his goddamned mind.  
  
Dean wasn’t sure what his answer would have been.  
  
He turned on the television, catching the tail-end of a news block discussing several strange kidnapping cases occurring over the past few weeks. Sam forgotten, Dean’s gaze fixed on the screen as he silently listened to the pretty brunette anchorwoman bemoan the lack of details the police had on the mystery.  
  
The minute the camera panned over the bar where he’d picked up Adam, Dean’s lips lifted into a cold smile. He studied the young man who appeared onscreen to tell what he’d seen, the mark so blindingly visible that Dean was half-surprised that no one else seemed to see it.  
  
The smile slowly faded from his expression, and he quickly catalogued the information he’d just received.  
  
Fine. They wouldn’t come to him? He’d go to them. Again.  
  
But he’d have to wait until dark.  
  
  
_____________________________________________________  
  
  
 


	2. Chapter 1B

  
Something warm and heavy pressed up against Sam’s arm, and he swallowed a groan before plastering a smile on his face and turning toward the person currently invading his personal space.  
  
All he saw at first was blonde hair, and red lips. Then the lips parted and a smoky voice breathed out, “Hey, sugar, you look like you could use a ride.”  
  
Sam’s eyes fell to the large breasts trying to suck his arm up and into their cleavage, and he subtly moved back to a safer distance before replying, “I’m good, thanks.”  
  
“You could be better,” the woman purred, and Sam tried not to laugh. She was obviously drunk and looking for a hookup, as was nearly everyone in the room. He’d never seen so many gyrating bodies in such a small place in his life.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of David sticking his tongue down the throat of some faceless redhead, and bit back a sigh. He turned back to the woman waiting not-so-patiently, and simply offered a brisk shake of his head.  
  
She pouted, but moved on with a carefree, “Your loss, honey!”  
  
Sam was sure it was.  
  
His fingers clasped the rim of the single beer he’d had all evening, and he forced himself to take a sip. Try to relax. God only knew a guy could have fun in a place like this, only…Sam wasn’t feeling much in the mood for fun.  
  
The damn nightmares were driving him nuts. Just last night he’d been plagued by a series of visions that had left him drained and sweating in the cheap hotel sheets. Visions of Dean, doing things that probably weren’t legal in forty-nine states. His body glistening, pulsing, flexing—  
  
“Holy shit, Sam! What the fuck?”  
  
He blinked, face flushed and breath heavy as he looked up to meet David’s shocked gaze. He followed it down to his hand, where he’d snapped the thin glass in two. Blood gushed from an open wound and all Sam could manage was, “Whoa.”  
  
“Are you drunk?” David asked, his voice sounding hazy and thick to Sam’s ears. A faint buzzing had started up in his brain, and he had to ask David to repeat himself twice before he finally understood what his friend was asking.  
  
“No,” he managed, feeling light-headed and sick. “I didn’t…only one…” His eyes rolled back in his head and he heard David’s shouts of alarm before everything went black.  
  
 _“Wanna get out of here?” Dean murmured, thrusting against the stranger plastered against his front. “Bet I can show you a real good time.”  
  
The man laughed, eyes lit up with something indefinable. “That’d probably be something to see.”  
  
Dean’s smile faded, eyes going wide with shock as he stared down at the knife protruding from his stomach. His gaze lifted, and he sputtered out, “S-Son of a…”  
  
“Next time, find someone on your own level to play with Winchester.”  
  
Dean managed a curse, blood foaming from his mouth as he crumpled to the floor, eyes staring up at the laughing figure. Unseeing..._  
  
“No!” Sam shot up, breath sticking in his chest as he nearly knocked foreheads with the paramedic leaning over him.  
  
“Whoa, hold still, son,” the man said, hangdog face grim with concentration. “Nasty cut you got there.”  
  
Sam just stared. “Dean?” he whispered, voice thick and fuzzy. While the medic worked on wrapping thick gauze around his left hand, he turned his head slightly to find Dave and some random girl from the bar eyeing him cautiously. “W-What happened?”  
  
“Dude, you passed out,” David answered, rubbing a hand down his face. “Sam, why didn’t you…why didn’t tell me you were sick, man? I wouldn’t have dragged you out here if you’d just said something.”  
  
Sam frowned, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. “I’m not…sick. I’m fine.” His gaze snapped to the paramedic, who was now checking over his body for additional damages. “I’m fine, right?”  
  
The man gave him a cursory look. “Far as I can tell. Although you might wanna lay off the hard stuff for a few days.” Beneath his breath, he added, “Frigging college kids…drinking and fucking themselves stupid.”  
  
“Hey,” Sam answered in offense. “I had _one_ drink—”  
  
“Does he need to go to the hospital?” David interrupted, sending Sam a look that let him know he didn’t believe his story for one minute. Which was pretty fucking frustrating, seeing as how Sam had never lied to David about anything.  
  
Well, hardly anything.  
  
The paramedic came to his feet. “I’ve stitched him up, but he’ll need to check in somewhere and have them removed in a few days. Other than that…I’d say get him home and make him lie down and rest.”  
  
“I’m not a goddamn invalid,” Sam muttered, irked at the implied undercurrents running through the conversation that he was some kind of fucking alcoholic. “And I didn’t pass out from drinking, okay? I had a headache, and then I just…” He caught himself just in time. “Never mind. I feel fine.”  
  
When the paramedics were gone, Sam cradled his injured hand and struggled not to meet his friend’s gaze. Unfortunately, David wasn’t one to let shit slide.  
  
“One drink, huh?”  
  
Sam made a face. “Since when have you known me to get drunk and fall down in public places, David? Seriously.”  
  
His friend acknowledged that with a faint incline of his head, then went in for the kill. “Well, there was that one time…about three years ago. You complained about a headache then, too, and were calling out for some guy named Dean.”  
  
Sam’s head snapped up to find David watching him with curious eyes. The girl he’d picked up had obviously wandered back into the bar, bored now that the spectacle Sam had made of himself was over.  
  
Deciding that remaining silent was probably his best defense, Sam just stared at David until his friend finally sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
“Whatever, Sam. My buzz is killed now anyway, and as for company” – he glanced wryly over his shoulder to where the woman had disappeared – “well, looks like you’re it.”  
  
“Don’t have to sound so excited,” Sam muttered, glaring at David when his friend laughed and wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders and led them both out and into the night.  
  
The festivities were going on full-force, and Sam winced a bit, remnants of a headache pounding at his skull in tandem with the hollering and shouting and screaming. He turned toward David only to find his friend hitting on the first available group of co-eds within thirty feet.  
  
Sam sighed and eyed the bandage around his fist. He wouldn’t remember later what caught his attention, only that something did. He whipped his head around in time to see a disturbingly familiar figure steal through the colorful throng of celebrants, just past the parade float of Dionysus. He froze, eyes trained on the slip of light brown hair and musculature he knew as well as his own.  
  
Fireworks exploded in the night sky and Sam winced as the sound multiplied in his head, grabbing his temples and bending at the waist as images – freeform and abstract – thundered across his mind until he was gasping for breath and stumbling back. No one noticed him amidst the drunken hollering and vivid bursts of light and color. He stood straight, teeth still clenched against the pain and strength of the visions. It was like driving through a tunnel – the carnivale continued around him, but all he saw at the end was the figure disappearing among the costumed spectators.  
  
Familiar tastes, scents washed over him and he found himself moving as if in slow motion, pushing past rouged women and leering men. Following the trail Dean unknowingly left him. Because there was no mistaking it now, not when every nerve in his body was lit on fire with the knowledge that his brother was _there_.  
  
He felt off-kilter and more than a little sick by the knot of power twisting in his belly. This hadn’t happened since Dad had died and Dean had disappeared, and Sam had actually been naïve enough to believe it was all over. Even the few random visions he’d had over the past few months, he hadn’t put enough stock into them to really think…  
  
The figure turned, distinctive green eyes lit up and glittering by the explosions in the sky. His features were half-covered by a black demi-mask, but Sam knew. He _knew_ deep in his bones, and it was confirmed a moment later when Dean’s gaze found his through the crowd. He was too far away to really get a read on his features, but there was no mistaking the way Dean went still, eyes locked on Sam as people rushed and blurred around them.  
  
“Dean.” He took a step forward, fingers curling into fists, and then he was shouting it. Shoving past the people – strangers – standing between him and Dean. Someone – man? Woman? It was impossible to tell with the masks and costumes – bumped into Dean, sending his brother forward a step before he went tense and started backing away. Sam felt fear – pure, unadulterated fear – mix with dizzying relief when Dean turned to run, and quickened his own pace. “Dean!”  
  
It was impossible for the sound to carry through the festivities, but Dean’s shoulders stiffened and then he was pushing past a small group of teenage girls with bare breasts decorated by purple and green beads. A clown on stilts toddled in front of Sam’s vision, and he nearly sent them both reeling to the ground, a curse upon his lips when he looked up to find his brother nowhere in sight.  
  
He could feel an ache in his calf from the mad dash, but ignored the burn in favor of desperation. He followed Dean’s supposed direction through a winding cobblestone street, to where the music was faint and the scents of shrimp and pastries were smothered by rotten garbage and filth. The only people here were blind drunk and unkempt, and Sam’s anxiety reached new proportions as he turned his head and saw nothing but darkness and strangers.  
  
 _Dean, don’t you dare fucking leave me!_  
  
He thought it with every fiber of his being, tears stinging the backs of his lids as his breath came out heavy and disoriented. It was then that he saw it – a small alley just past a rundown restaurant. It was as if he was being pulled there by an imaginary string, and Sam’s feet began the short walk as his skin began to prickle.  
  
Sure enough, a figure stood up against the shoddy brick building, shadowed and struggling against a seemingly invisible pressure. The second Sam heard the sharp curse, he sprang forward and gripped broad shoulders encased in white linen.  
  
“I found you.” It was a near whisper, and those eyes rounded as he slid his hands up Dean’s neck, framing his face and thumbing the silky material of the mask. “I found you, Dean…why were you running…”  
  
“Sam?” His voice was choked, thicker than fog. Sam’s relief escalated, and he dropped his forehead to his brother’s, breath mingling with Dean’s as they both stood there in the darkness.  
  
“Why’d you leave?” The words slipped off of his tongue before he’d even realized his brain had formed them.  
  
Dean’s eyes flashed and he looked away, flexing the arm that was pressed up against Sam’s chest. When his gaze returned to Sam, his eyes were hard and distant. “I had to.”  
  
Confusion ricocheted through Sam, and his fingers curled into his brother’s flesh. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve—”  
  
Dean cut off his desperate tirade with a rough sound, all but shoving at Sam’s chest in a much too obvious act to separate them. Dean’s voice came out on a low hiss that burned deep in Sam’s belly. “Isn’t it obvious? I didn’t want you with me.”  
  
There was a long silence during which Sam struggled to digest that, to accept the truth that he’d convinced himself of during the depths of his despair those first few months. Something must have shown in his expression, because Dean’s only grew harder, even as his voice softened and cracked.  
  
“Look, Sammy, you’re entitled to your own life. You’ve been shoving that down my throat for years, so don’t you dare judge me for the same damn thing.”  
  
It was then that Sam knew. The answer written across Dean’s features was as legible as the textbooks he spent his days neck-deep in. Relief dissolved into frustration and the worry that had plagued him for months became a vibrant anger that settled deep in his bones.  
  
“You stupid goddamn bastard.” His fingers curled into Dean’s shoulders, so hard he knew they’d leave a mark. Dean winced, and Sam was glad. _Glad_ to be able to punish his brother – even in this miniscule a way. “I wasn’t gonna leave you, Dean! You…stupid…”  
  
“That’s not what this is about.” The words came too quickly, and Dean turned his head away when Sam tried to get closer. “And if you don’t let me go in the next five seconds, brother or not I will fucking cut you, Sam.” In punctuation of this promise, Dean lifted a knee and Sam saw the glint of a blade glittering against the side of Dean’s calf.  
  
Huh. He’d somehow missed that.  
  
Sam took a careful step back. “I’m not touching you,” he spat out, heart bloody and broken in his chest. Emotions clawing at his insides. “Dean—”  
  
“Your powers, Sam.” Dean’s voice was soft, but dangerous. “Get them. Under control.”  
  
Sam blinked. Hadn’t even realized he’d been using the gift he’d been born with. In all honesty, it had all but disappeared along with Dean, and Sam had spent a time torn between despair about losing his brother and elation at the idea that now, maybe, he truly _was_ normal. He should’ve known it all had some fucking connection with Dean.  
  
Everything always did.  
  
Now he could feel the swell, the electric surge in his blood that was holding his brother captive up against a building because Sam had simply _thought_ it. He flipped it like a switch, stepping back as Dean let out a small groan and rolled on the balls of his feet.  
  
“Fuck.” His brother sagged a bit, stretching his shoulders. Sam watched silently, breath suspended until Dean looked up at him. “Family reunion’s over, Sam. Get out of here.”  
  
Nothing. No inflection, emotion colored his brother’s tone. Just a barren flatness charged with a glimmer of impatience in Dean’s eyes. It was too much, and not enough.  
  
“I’m not leaving,” he started, voice choked, and then found himself shoved up against the building as Dean held the knife to his throat. Sam sucked in, Adam’s apple grazing the sharp blade as his eyes dared Dean.  
  
“For once in your life, you’re gonna fucking listen to me.” There was no apology there either, and Sam’s heart shattered a bit more at the finality in his brother’s tone. “Pretend you never saw me, Sam, and go back to normal.”  
  
It was in the way Dean said it, tongue and lip curling around the word as if it were the most loathsome of curses, that gave Sam hope. He waited for Dean to release him, to turn on his heel before Sam’s hand came out to close around Dean’s thick wrist.  
  
Dean immediately spun back around, wild and panting and fist an inch from Sam’s eye. “Back the fuck off!”  
  
“Hey. This guy giving you trouble, pretty?  
  
Dean went stiff before he cocked his head just enough to eyeball the figure approaching. Sam caught the barest hint of an oath on his brother’s tongue before he leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t open your mouth.”  
  
Sam remained silent, bewildered, at least until Dean spun around and fixed the stranger with a smile that sent Sam’s belly into a churning mess of anxiety and grim realization. He watched his brother go from edgy predator to easy prey in a flash of teeth and moonlight. Dean’s voice was a low, soothing purr of sexual promise that matched the invitation in his eyes.  
  
It grated on Sam’s nerves like broken glass.  
  
“Just another satisfied customer,” Dean drawled, his grip on Sam going from threatening to caressing. Sam sucked in when Dean’s fingers danced across his chest, down his ribs and then skittered away. “The young ones never want the night to end.”  
  
It was then that Sam finally took notice of Dean’s costume. He’d been first too shocked at having found Dean, then too relieved, but now…he could see. And understood all too well. The bile touched the back of his throat and it was all he could do to remain silent.  
  
“I thought we had an appointment, _cher_.” The man stepped forward, an easy smile on his lips as his gaze roamed over Dean, then Sam. “Oh. He _is_ worth the wait.” A considering brow. “I don’t guess he’d be interested in—”  
  
While Sam struggled with disgust and offense, Dean’s smile went hard, voice a little sharper than before. “No.”  
  
The stranger shrugged, then went back to staring at Dean like his brother was a fucking buffet platter. Sam’s fingers curled into fists. “You and me, then.”  
  
“That’s what you paid for, Rene.” And as easy as that, Dean stepped away from him and sidled up to the man while Sam stood there watching, open-mouthed, as his brother - _Dean_ \- started rubbing himself all over some stranger from New Orleans. Catching the man’s bottom lip and sucking with that goddamn sinful mouth and making the dirtiest noises Sam had ever heard.  
  
Dean’s lashes fluttered, and he caught Sam’s horrified gaze over the man’s shoulder. The dismissal there stung more than any words Dean could’ve said. But it wasn’t until the man hissed, hands falling on Dean’s shoulders and forcing his brother to the ground, Dean’s fingers already reaching for his buckle in the darkness, that Sam really knew it was all over.  
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
Dean tried not to react when Sam shoved away from the building, half-expecting his brother to come forward and kill Rene with his bare hands, thereby destroying everything Dean had worked months to accomplish.  
  
He ignored the part of him that wished Sam would.  
  
He closed his eyes, unable to handle that expression of betrayal and disgust coloring his brother’s features, swallowing the bitterness on his tongue as Rene bucked into his mouth and moaned, whispering dirty nothings that he blocked with trained ease.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, Sam was gone.  
  
Something must’ve shown in his face, because Rene chuckled and reached down to fondle Dean’s cheek. “I think you successfully scared him off, _cher_. Probably for the best…that pretty thing looked half in love with you.”  
  
More like Sam had finally just fucking given up. Which was what Dean wanted, needed to happen, and yet he couldn’t deny the near hysteria that threatened to overwhelm him. He still felt dizzy and disoriented from the unplanned confrontation with his brother, when he’d been waiting for Rene to show himself.  
  
_You and your goddamn timing, Sammy._  
  
There was no coming back from this. No way to shield his brother from the truth now. Sam had always been too fucking curious for his own good.  
  
“Oh, don’t tell me you have a soft spot for him, Dean.” Another chuckle, even deeper, and Dean flinched. “After what I’ve heard about you?”  
  
“What’ve you heard?” Dean asked softly, keeping the waver out of his tone as he struggled to put Sam behind him, at least for the moment, and concentrate on the job at hand.  
  
“Mmm…” Rene sighed, thumb still caressing Dean’s cheek as he leaned back against the building. The tattoo gleamed in the moonlight and Dean’s eyes went hard. “I heard you get around.”  
  
“I do.” Dean let it drip off his tongue, sliding his palms up the back of Rene’s thighs as he came to his feet. “I heard the same about you.”  
  
“You wanna take this back to my place then?” Rene was gasping a minute later, and Dean’s teeth flashed in the darkness.  
  
“Thought you’d never ask.”  
  
The drive was short, the setup the same as always. And yet, Rene still seemed surprised when Dean gutted him with a single twist of the blade he’d slept with since childhood. There was more cursing, threats and sworn retribution, and then Rene’s eyes went dead.  
  
Dean stepped over the body, expression grim and insides more than a little sick as he stepped outside and saw the blood gleaming black on his fingers. Thank God Rene lived closer to the Quarter, and Dean hardly stuck out among the party-goers and weird-ass shit going on.   
  
He used the fire escape, ready to sit out on the balcony with a pack of smokes until the shaking in his hand subsided. Already, Sam’s accusing eyes were threatening to haunt him, and Dean…Dean just didn’t have the strength for that shit right now. He needed to be totally on top of the job. Couldn’t afford to let an unplanned encounter with his brother fuck up his mind.  
  
He vaulted over the railing, tearing off his ruined shirt and wiping his fingers, then used his key to get inside. Years of training let him know, immediately, that he wasn’t alone. He reached down, finding the weight of silver blade in his hand.  
  
“So. You’re hooking for money now? Got tired of hustling pool…thought sucking cock in alleys would turn a better profit?”  
  
Relief warred with despair at the sound of Sam’s voice. Dean sagged, dropping the knife onto the table as he reached for the lamp. Then thought better of it, knowing if he saw his brother’s expression right then he’d have to curl up into a ball and die.  
  
“Thought you didn’t approve of hustling pool, Sammy,” he managed in a somewhat normal tone of voice, shrugging off his jacket and moving toward his small kitchen. “Figured this would be a step up in your eyes.”  
  
“You son of a bitch.”   
  
Dean bit back the instantaneous response to that – _takes one to know one, eh little brother?_ – and opted to ask the obvious. “How’d you find me?” _And why were you even looking?_  
  
He felt more than heard Sam stand up, pad across the carpeting and come up behind him. Dean’s fingers clenched around a bottle of tequila and his breath froze, eyes squeezing shut as Sam’s body brushed against him. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.  
  
“My magical powers.” He’d expected Sam to be angry, and maybe he was, but mostly he just sounded really fucking young. And exhausted. And then, Dean felt his brother rub his cheek against Dean’s neck, and the bottle slipped through Dean’s fingers and clattered in the sink.   
  
“Sam—”  
  
“You smell like cheap cologne and come,” Sam bit off, voice catching, fingers gentle yet bruising along his skin. “Did he hurt you?”  
  
That was enough for Dean to regain his equilibrium. “Hurt me?” He let out a small laugh, turned to finally face his brother. “Did you somehow miss the part where I wanted it?”  
  
“You didn’t want it. He was paying you.”  
  
“You really think anyone could make me do something I didn’t want to do?” The words sounded forced and challenging to his own ears, but Sam just stared down at him, big puppy eyes confused and worried.   
  
“Tell me what’s going on, Dean. This…this isn’t _you_.”  
  
The emotional dam he’d constructed with such difficulty burst, and Dean shoved him hard, breath coming fast when Sam barely flinched. “Oh, spare me the fucking psychoanalysis, Sam. You really, _really_ think this – ” he gestured to the costume, his apartment – “is beyond me? What, blackens my reputation?”  
  
Sam’s throat worked, but he remained silent as Dean continued backing him toward the living room. His voice went softer when he murmured, “I’ve killed more than most serial murderers ever thought about, and I’ve destroyed more innocent people’s lives than you can begin to imagine.” A cold smirk lifted his lips. “Oh yeah, and I’ve been fucking my baby brother since he was—”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam interrupted, eyes glittering and wet as Dean’s voice rose. “Don’t make it sound like that.”  
  
“What? Don’t like _hearing_ it?” Dean laughed, a bit maniacally. “Get over it, Sam. I’m no fucking angel. Blowing guys in random back alleys is the least of my sins.”  
  
“This is so goddamn typical.” Sam’s voice matched his own, wounded and angry and desperate. “You ask for my help, but you never let me in. And then you go off all half-cocked and…”  
  
Dean knew the second his brother understood. Cursed, spinning on his heel and storming toward the balcony. Anything not to glimpse the dawning realization and sympathy glowing in Sam’s eyes.  
  
His brother found him a moment later, bent over the railing and watching the Mardi Gras celebration below. His voice was quiet. “This is for a hunt. Isn’t it?”  
  
Dean’s eyes closed as a breeze curled the air. “You think I’d blow guys for a hunt, Sammy?”  
  
He hoped that reminding Sam of that would be enough to get him to leave. The hurt that came into his brother’s eyes every time he mentioned it killed a bit of himself, but that was better than watching Sam get mixed up in this shit and get killed instead.  
  
“I think you’d cut off your right arm and eat it for a hunt.”  
  
There was only a little mocking in that statement, and Dean half-turned to glance at his brother. “My left, maybe. Need the right one too much.” His eyes caught on Sam’s injured palm and froze, pulse pounding in his ears. “Looks like I’m not the one you should be worrying about.”  
  
“Christ, Dean. Don’t change the subject.”  
  
“Look. I didn’t want you involved. Still don’t.” He turned away and stared down at the lights and colors until his eyes began to water. There was no other reason why. At all. “I’m sorry-sorry you had to see that, Sam—”  
  
“You’re sorry.”   
  
Dean didn’t even see it coming. One minute he was hanging onto that railing for dear life, and the next he was wrapped around Sam like no time at all had passed between them. Like it was still that night before he’d left, weeks after Dad had died. When he’d fucked Sam through the mattress, catching his brother’s anguished groans on his tongue and making vague plans of leaving before Sam could. Because Sam was going to. And Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to put himself back together again.  
  
“You’re fucking _sorry?_ ” Sam hissed against his mouth, hands wrapped in Dean’s overlong hair. He was hunched over Dean, trembling. “This is some twisted kind of payback, isn’t it? You…you never really forgave me for Stanford. Or Jessica.”  
  
Dean had been expecting a slap to the face, and got a knife to the gut.  
  
“Don’t do this, Sammy,” he begged, hating how thick his voice sounded. Hated that, for at least a part of himself, Sam was right. “Because you’re not gonna like how it ends.”  
  
“You have no fucking idea how this is gonna end, Dean.” And now Sammy the Brother was gone, and Sam the Hunter was in his place. A thrill shot up Dean’s spine despite himself.  
  
He may have had a soft spot for Sammy, but he’d always had a damn hard-on for Sam.  
  
“Back off,” he warned again, but the threat sounded weak even to his own ears. Especially considering his hands had found the lean line of Sam’s hips and were dragging his brother even closer.   
  
“Why? Do I have to pay first?” And Sam sounded just as weak as he did. There was a moment’s silence after his brother’s question, during which Dean’s heart literally took a flying leap to the soles of his feet.  
  
Something came over him then; and whether it was due to the months – years – he’d spent _without_ Sam, or because the sight of his brother had always managed to turn him into the worst kind of perverted monster, Dean didn’t know. He had Sam up against the balcony, bent almost in half, pants tugged halfway down his hips before Sam even had the chance to make a sound.  
  
When he did, it was pained and desperate and “God, Dean, please just…”  
  
Dean’s teeth found his earlobe and tugged, tongue curling around the shell. “Hold on tight,” he rasped, reaching down and covering Sam’s hands as he curled his brother’s fingers around the railing. Sam barely flinched at the touch to his injury, and Dean worked jerkily at his belt as he stared blurrily at the people walking the streets below. All it would take was a single glance up and they’d see everything.  
  
Sam must’ve figured that out, too, because his breath hitched when he said, “You’re gonna…here?”  
  
Dean rocked his hips, letting Sam feel the iron hardness of his dick. “Keep quiet and no one’ll notice.”  
  
They both knew that wasn’t gonna happen.  
  
Zipper half-undone and pants sagging low on his hips, Dean licked two fingers before reaching down and finding the crease of Sam’s ass. “Bend over just a bit more,” he managed huskily, lust and want and need surging through his blood as Sam whimpered and spread his legs a bit more, knuckles gone white where his huge hands clenched around the railing.  
  
The second Sam’s back curved, Dean slipped both fingers inside of him. They both froze, and sweat gathered at Dean’s temples as he licked his lips. “Fuck, you’re tight. You haven’t…?”  
  
As soon as he started to ask the question, he realized he was nowhere near fucking ready to hear the answer. He’d tried not to think about it during their separation, unwilling to let the images of Sam with some faceless stranger haunt him. But at night, it was all he could think about.  
  
And yeah, he knew how fucking hypocritical that was. Sam had _seen_ him at work, and Dean knew if it’d been the other way around, he would’ve probably killed the guy _and_ Sam.  
  
“Never mind—” he began, swallowing raggedly, but Sam cut him off, voice muffled against his arm.  
  
“Just…you, Dean.”  
  
And somehow knowing that made everything even worse. And perfect.  
  
“God, Sam…” he trailed off, voice shot, fingers curling, and Sam groaned and arched against him. Dean couldn’t tell if the rhythmic beating was from the drums in the Quarter or from his own heart. Sam was so fucking hot, tight. Like he’d never had his ass pounded, which Dean knew was a lie.  
  
“Hurts some,” Sam admitted, rolling his hips as Dean pressed further. Then he hissed and gritted out, “Gimme another.”  
  
Dean sighed into Sam’s neck, front plastered to Sam’s back. Pants around his ankles, fingers deep inside his brother. “That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself on me…just open up a bit…more…”  
  
“You got anything wet?” Sam managed, skin slick with sweat and chest heaving. Dean’s hand gripped his brother’s hip in a miserable attempt to slow his rocking motions.  
  
“Just my mouth.”  
  
“Then use it and fuck me.” Sam arched back, letting out a sharp groan when the angle of Dean’s fingers pressed against the sweet spot inside of him. Dean did it again, slicking his free hand with saliva and working his cock in short, frantic jerks.  
  
“Doitdoitdoit,” Sam was keening now, flushed red and glowing in the fireworks-lit night.   
  
Dean nodded dumbly, and then realized Sam couldn’t see him. He licked his lips, throat dry. “Sam, I haven’t…” The words got twisted up somewhere inside of him, and Sam went still beneath him, obviously understanding the truth Dean was failing at admitting.  
  
“Okay.” There was a thread of relief mingled with the pleasure, and Dean released the breath he’d been holding when Sam added in an almost broken voice, “I had visions that you were…I…”  
  
“No.” And that was easy enough. “Not like this…I haven’t. Sam.” His fingers slid free, and he carefully positioned himself to drive deep, knowing the first thrust was gonna burn like nothing else. Doing this relatively dry was the worst idea they’d either had, but Sam seemed to want it and Dean, well, Dean wanted _Sam._ Like always.  
  
Another burst of flame and sparks went up in the sky as he drove in, teeth sinking into the tendons of Sam’s neck as his brother cried out and bucked. The noise was lost in the cacophony, but Dean tasted that hoarse shout on his own tongue.  
  
_Sam. Baby. God. Yes._ It all became an endless litany in his mind while his hips worked, fingers cruising the sharp cut of his brother’s waist. Every time Sam bucked back, let out a sound that was drowned out amidst the celebration, Dean got that much closer.  
  
By the time the fireworks dissolved into nothing, Dean was coming and Sam was coming, and they were both headed somewhere with no end in sight.  
  
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
The first thing Sam noticed when he woke up was that it was too quiet. Apparently even the most die-hard Mardi Gras celebrants had finally decided to call it a night – he glanced over and winced at the time – well, morning. The second thing he noticed was that Dean was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Sam rolled over, finding the bed still warm, and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand before slinging one leg over the mattress. He could smell the smoke, and followed the hazy blue wisps out to the living room.  
  
Dean was curled up in a chair by the balcony window, still naked, a cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. His other hand aimlessly switched a lighter on and off, and Sam focused on the flicker of the flame before Dean spoke.  
  
“You know I can’t let you stay,” he murmured, bringing the cigarette to his lips. Sam noted the trembling in his hand, and it went a long way to alleviating the concern that had instantly popped up from his brother’s words.  
  
He came forward, dropping onto the ratty couch and staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, I gotta head back anyway. David’s probably freaking out about now as it is.” The flickering light stopped, and Sam bit back a brittle smile.  
  
“David?”  
  
He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his fist as he met Dean’s narrowed eyes and taut features. “You asshole. You think you have _any_ fucking right to be jealous of who I spend my time with?”  
  
If possible, Dean’s expression went even darker. “Who the fuck is David? Did you meet him here?”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to blast Dean again, and then realized there was more than simple jealousy at work here. His brother looked almost…afraid. “David’s a friend from school,” he admitted slowly. “Dean…what the hell’s going on?”  
  
He hadn’t had a chance to ask again all night. First there’d been the scene out on the balcony, and as soon as he’d gotten his breath from _that_ Dean had dragged him inside and done it all over again. In his bed. Sam hadn’t complained, but he hadn’t forgotten his questions either.  
  
He witnessed the internal battle cross Dean’s features. To tell Sam, or not to tell, and abruptly Sam was furious. The lingering satisfaction from fucking and loving Dean again dissolved into bitter resignation.  
  
“You were never going to tell me.”  
  
“Sam…” Dean’s head fell back against the chair and he slumped deeper into the cushion. “It’s for the best.” Something in Dean’s voice belied this statement, but Sam was too angry to really take note.  
  
He could feel the power zooming through his blood again, and had to forcibly refrain from sending something flying at Dean’s stubborn head. “I guess I should get out and let you get back to ‘work’ then,” he managed, suddenly feeling dirty and used and wanting to hurt Dean the same way he was hurting.   
  
Dean reacted to that, sitting straight up and staring Sam in the eye. “I thought we already talked about this?”  
  
Sam choked on a laugh, feeling anything but amusement at the situation. “Is that what that was? I thought you were just _fucking_ me, Dean.”  
  
Dean flinched at the snide words, expression softening, but Sam had heard enough. He stood up, heading for the bedroom, hearing Dean’s low curse and his brother’s footsteps following.  
  
“What the hell do you want from me, Sam?” Dean sounded frustrated and upset and something else Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint.  
  
“Just let me grab my pants and I’ll let myself out.”  
  
Dean reached for him when he brushed past, and Sam let loose with just a minor burst, effectively pinning his brother against the wall as they glared at one another. “Sam,” Dean started, way too fucking calmly for Sam’s taste. “I just can’t—”  
  
“Happy hunting, Dean. I’m sure they’ll all be real appreciative of your _skills_.” He paused, swallowing down the razor-edged lump in his throat. “I know I was.”  
  
“Sammy. Don’t.”  
  
But Sam already had his cell phone out and was punching in David’s number with numb fingers. The minute David answered, Sam spat out the address of a bar across the street and asked for his friend to pick him up, all the while aware of Dean’s sharp gaze on his back.  
  
He turned around, almost expecting Dean to say something. But his brother just looked away. His voice was more of a hoarse growl when he whispered, “Have a nice life, Sam. Don’t trust the wrong person and fuck it all up.”  
  
“I already did.” When Dean’s gaze snapped back, understanding rounding his eyes, Sam felt a twisted sense of triumph before he reached for the door.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he was waiting for David to show, practically shaking from the fight with Dean. He could still see his brother’s shithole of an apartment, see the balcony where Dean had bent him over and—  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Tires squealed, swallowing his curse as David pulled up and rolled down the window. “Jesus Christ, Sam, where the _hell_ have you been all night?”  
  
Sam shoved his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot and struggling not to look guilty as hell. Hoping he didn’t look as freshly fucked as he felt. “I, uh, ran into an old friend.”  
  
David just looked at him, surprise coloring his features, and then he grinned. “Must’ve been a wild ride. Your shirt’s inside out, ya know.”  
  
Sam looked down and grimaced. “Shut up,” he grumbled, sliding inside and slamming the door. His gaze was drawn to the balcony above, and he saw Dean staring down at him with features Sam couldn’t read in the dark.  
  
Suddenly he felt desperate to get the fuck out of there. “Let’s just go back,” he heard himself saying, fingers digging into his thighs as he tore his gaze away from his brother’s. “Hell, it’s so late we might as well.”  
  
Dean would’ve laughed and cuffed him on the back of the neck, throwing out a “That’s my boy” and tossing their shit in the Impala and taking off with a grin on his face. David looked at him like he’d received a lobotomy.  
  
“Dude. Are you insane? We barely just got here!”  
  
They’d been there a week. Not that Sam was counting. “I just…” he cut himself off, unable to explain what the problem really was without _really_ freaking his friend out. He shot a glance over at David, and his gaze snagged on his friend’s forearm.  
  
A small tattoo leered back at him, and Sam blinked, recognizing the image from somewhere. He categorized it immediately as some kind of religious symbol, which was odd because he’d never taken David for the religious type. Come to think of it, Sam hadn’t taken him for the tattoo type, either.  
  
Hell, he’d actually never seen David in anything but long sleeves.  
  
Something wasn’t right.  
  
He looked up to find David watching him with a sad sort of smile on his face. And he knew. “Oh, shit.”  
  
“Yeah. Sorry, Sam.” And before Sam could process a response, two hands grabbed him by the back of the neck and he heard the sickening snap before everything went dark.  
  
**TBC**


End file.
